Vita, Vita, belle of the night,

The maddening beauty; source of my plight.

Though beautiful, inattentive and leaves me cold.

A darker nature takes its hold.

I follow her to a dusky den.

I see her speak to other men.

Harlot! Harpy! She's mine alone.

So when she's done, I follow her home.

She slips into bed, but so do I.

She fights my love with a prey-like cry.

Dead and buried, but undoubtedly mine...

Oh, the beauty of my cursed lady,

The maiden of unchaste.

Her haunting body, the only sin

I've ever begged to taste.

Trysts are not in my nature

I'm a man of pious honor.

But her hips and lips invite the crime

of vestal minds to wander.

Her eyes, her eyes! They be afire

like the fires of Hells nine.

The horrors of the fair of face

that call to soon be mine.

Save me, God, I love the devil's

te...

No grave can hold my body down; I'll crawl home to her.

Her dark beauty renders the lifeless living and relentless in their worship with a warm kiss to their cheek, a whisper to their ear, and a breath to their lips. 'Twas my fate to her.

The earth was freshly turned my barrow over when she glided in through the churchyard, her draping muslin and vines befalling grave between grave. Her hands ...

Bereaved lovers and children haunt the churchyard, the late summer evening casting a warm and gentle haze across old burials. Candlelight cuts through the low mist, bathing the graves in goldenness - every name, every date of birth and death raised in the solstice light. It is nights like this when Janya drifts among the headstones, murmuring their names aloud, softly touching some. It is not sen...